Page 40 of The Magical Tea Shop

“What’s this?” Holly stared at the special glass jar of cookies Ivy was saving for Jaxon before reaching for it and drawing it in close to her body.

“Mine.” Ivy reached for them, but Holly swiveled away with the jar before Ivy could grab it.

“Let’s see.” She tried prying the lid up, but it held tight.

“They’re cookies.” Ivy was about to add,and not for you, but that sounded churlish, like an argument they might have had as children. “I’m saving them,” she said instead. Holly shrugged and frowned as she handed the glass jar back, her fingers brushing over the raised etching. She briefly gripped it tight again, before relinquishing her grasp.

Ivy took the jar carefully and refrained from blowing out a relieved breath. She didn’t want to reveal how important they were. She didn’t trust her sisterthatmuch. She loved her, yes, but Holly, as Jaxon had pointed out in their conversation on the green, was a taker. This was one thing Ivy didn’t want to give. Not this time.

She set the glass jar back in its place of honor above her tea sets. The track lighting around the edge of the ceiling illuminated the etched floral design. Light reflected off the glass with a unique glow. The floral pattern swirled, almost moving on its own. Mesmerized, Ivy almost couldn’t bring herself to look away. When she turned back, she saw it having a similar effect on her sister.

“I’m helping the historical society tonight.” She spoke a bit too brightly to get Holly’s focus off the jar.

Her sister blinked owlishly. “Don’t tell me they’ve succeeded with you. They tried to rope me into their machinations last month. You’re too easy. What do they have you doing?”

“Just taking the minutes. Marjorie hurt her hand,” Ivy added quickly, “I’m not on the board.”

“You’re not on the board,yet. Be careful. They’ve got elections coming up. You’ll find yourself with another commitment.”

Ivy paused to consider. Would that be so bad? Jaxon had lots of commitments in the community. She could put herself out there a little more. It might be good for business to be more involved in Hazard. “It’s at Oleander House.”

“Oh.” Holly’s tone held an odd note.

“What?”

Holly shook her head. “They’re roping you in. You haven’t seen the house since the renovations. It’s spectacular. You’ll love it. You will never want to leave.”

Ivy scoffed.

“No, truly. No detail was spared. The wallpaper, the carpets, the furniture, the art—all authentic. The”—Holly paused dramatically, her voice just a whisper as she spoke the next word—“dishes.”

“Dishes?” Ivy met her eyes.

“Dishes. Everyone knows how you delight in china patterns.” Holly gave a head tilt and a shrug. “You’re a goner.”

“Nonsense, I have dishes. Lots of them.” Ivy waved a hand at her pretty little tea sets all lined up and waiting for tomorrow’s customers. “What could they have that’s better than these? I’ve got Russian, French, Dutch, American Colonial, along with modern Lenox, Noritake, and Mikasa. I have all the dishes I could possibly need.”

At Holly’s knowing expression, she added, “Really? The dishes are that great?”

“You’ll see.”

*

Ivy arrived atOleander House a good twenty minutes early. She was hoping for a chance to poke around a little before she was sucked into the Hazard Historical Society’s agenda for the evening. Holly’s words had sparked her curiosity. Could the dishes be as magnificent as Holly made them sound? Ivy paused to take in the stately Georgian Colonial mansion before her. Oleander House was a modest name for a structure so grand. She knew it had been built in the late 1700s after the fourth son traveled to Rhode Island from France, just a decade prior to the French Revolution. Traditionally the first son was the heir, the second conscripted for the military, and the third destined for the church. A fourth son was required to make his own way in the world. Her ancestor’s timing had allowed him to keep what wealth he’d been permitted to take with him, with all the rest being lost as his family, along with his sweetheart, had been wiped out.

Ivy climbed the wide stone steps, with planters placed at intervals along the sides. Abundant blooms spilled from them all the way up to the entrance, big hydrangea blossoms in a multitude of white and pink and blue. Stunning.

She ran into Malory Stone at the door. Malory stood and waited. Hazel had it right. The thin woman’s expression was grim. She stood straight and rigid, motioning Ivy in as if she owned the house. In a way, as the docent, she was the hostess.

Ivy stepped inside, and her words fled. Holly was right. This was perfect. She paused to let the opulence seep into her. The colorful, hand-knotted carpet, true to the era, inspired thoughts of a sunrise. Framed art featured family portraits of her ancestors. She recognized the arrogant gaze of her sister and her aunt. Well, at least they came by their lofty view of the world honestly. The costuming of the figures ranged from the 1700s styles to the early 1900s.

“Come,” said Malory, “the meeting will be in here.” Ivy tread carefully behind the woman to the dining room, barely resisting the urge to tiptoe. Malory flipped a switch and a chandelier sprang to life, casting warm light sparkling into the corners, chasing away the shadows. A long, teakwood table gleamed, with a runner of tatted, ivory thread. A silver tray edged in gold and on it… “Oh! Oh, my.” A china teapot in Famille Rose with delicate flowers hand-painted in pink and carmine had Ivy catching her breath. “Where did they find it? I thought it was lost.”

Malory nodded. “From far and wide. I excel at acquisitions of this kind. The research required draws me in. We now have a complete set of twenty-four place settings,” she said, clearly comfortable with touting her accomplishments.

“Twenty-four—ooh.” Ivy would love to borrow a few, but Lydia would probably say no. But if she werepartof the historical society, she might have a teeny, tiny bit of influence and could call in a favor.

She shook her head. Holly was right. The pillars were reeling her in, like a striped bass on a line.

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